


we haven't been introduced

by ironicallyinternational



Series: marauders one-shots [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A whole aesthetic, Hogwarts Era, Humor, James Potter attempts to learn consideration, M/M, Marauders' Era, Multi, Remus Lupin is not as above it as he wishes, Schoolboy banter, Sirius and James are idiots, Sirius is no help, Terrible friends, The Marauders aged 14 are a bunch of tossers, fifth year is looming in the horizon, muggle music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 03:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicallyinternational/pseuds/ironicallyinternational
Summary: James wants to prove he is not a bit of a tosser, his friends are of no help, and Sirius certainly is a tosser. Alternatively, a snapshot of fourth year, featuring James gliding through faux-pas simply because he is James Potter and life favours him like that.





	we haven't been introduced

**Author's Note:**

> i love 14 yo marauders they're already these little wankers but not yet 5th year levels of Cool and james and sirius would drive any sane person off their rocker 
> 
> song to listen to while you read this: girls and boys, blur

Sirius has gotten really into Muggle music.

 

Muggle technology isn't meant to work at all, in the castle. Not even radios, even if wizards use radios. Not even record players.

 

Good thing they take Muggle Studies. Good thing James and Sirius are really quite smart.

 

They are. James has always known he was bright, talented, charming, whatever, and he's never really had any reason to try, but that was before... Before coming here, he guesses.

 

There's a lot of smart people in Hogwarts, but Sirius is his type of smart, more or less. Sirius comes up with crazy ideas and James wants to make them work. Sirius finds solutions to unanswerable questions that James throws out. They're really smart, together. The kind that means they're practically untouchable.

 

Turns out you can do anything you like, if your teachers all love you. No matter if they show it to your face.

 

In his calmer moments James is aware that he's a bit of a twat, sometimes. The thing is that he's a lovable one, though, and he's never really hurt anyone's feelings who didn't deserve it, and people like him, as a general rule, and they like him a lot, and he just... Bad people don't get that, right? So he can't be that bad.

 

Anyways. The music thing. It's only relevant in association with the whole "decent person" thing, so he's not off topic, matter of fact.

 

It starts because he gets told off a little by McGonnagal. Not like normal told off, which he kind of smiles at and ignores, or special told off, which is actually her way of saying he's her favourite, but like proper disappointed. He hates disappointing.

 

It troubles him all day. No, several days. Peter stops being happy about the relative quiet first; Remus would probably appreciate a week at least, and Sirius has been kind of quiet as well, although whether he got told off or he's just appropriating James' angst is a mystery of its own.

 

"James," Peter says, then, starting this whole thing. "You can't make everyone like you."

 

Which is the wrong thing to say, because he usually can, at least the people that matter.

 

"I'm not that much of a twat, am I?" James asks, miserably.

 

"Of course not!" Peter says, immediately, all sincerity. He probably means it. It makes James feel worse. "It's just people expect you to do a lot."

 

"But I can do a lot," James whines. Whines? Yeah, fine. Whines.

 

"Well, maybe you do too much," Remus chimes in. "Just as a thought."

 

They're awful at giving advice. James rolls off his bed and kicks the bathroom door in.

 

"Do you mind, mate?" Sirius hisses, but James isn't bothered because he knew all Sirius would be doing in there was examining his hair in the mirror, when he kicked the door in. Which he was, so.

 

James sits on the edge of the bath.

 

"Do you think I'm a twat?"

 

"Well, yeah, sometimes," Sirius says, which is not what he's supposed to be saying, what the hell. He says it way too fast, as well. James can practically hear Remus smirk.

 

"What?!"

 

"Jamie, of course you're a bit of a tosser. What's wrong with that?" Sirius shrugs, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

 

"What's- there's plenty wrong with that! I want people to like me, not hate me!"

 

"I think you should stop caring about what people think so much."

 

Easy for him to say, James thinks, sour. He stopped caring at age eleven.

 

"Well, maybe I care about other people point blank, hm?"

 

"Yeah, cool."

 

James kicks the back of his leg. Sirius whirls around dramatically.

 

"What?”

 

"Sirius, why am I a tosser?!"

 

"I said a bit of a tosser," Sirius scowls. "I don't know. Ask Remus or Peter. They think I'm even more of a tosser."

 

"They've never said that-“

 

"Prongs, they call me a tosser several times a day. Apparently it's just worse with you because you don't acknowledge the twattery."

 

And, brushing his hair out of his face: "And they expect better, or something."

 

"What, like they expect me to be nicer or...?"

 

Sirius seems to accept he's not going to be able to evade the advice-giving, turns to face him.

 

"Of course they don't want you to be nicer. You're plenty nice. I think you're just a bit self-obsessed."

 

When Sirius Black calls you self-obsessed, you rethink your fourteen years of existence.

 

So it all starts with McGonnagal and then Peter, and James decides he will be less self-obsessed. He's going to be the most altruistic, considerate person Gryffindor House has ever seen.

 

(He goes for Gryffindor because trying to beat Hufflepuff is just suicidal.)

 

It seems a little ridiculous to go on a school-wide kindness spree; he settles on being considerate to his own friends, placating Gryffindor House, and smiling a little more at random first years.

 

Placating Gryffindor House is easy. All he has to do is 1/ win their next big game, which happens to be against Slytherin. But because he wants more than just making them forgive and forget, he's also 2/ smuggling in drinks and fireworks.

 

He explains this to Remus, who he has made his unofficial advisor. He ignores his advice a lot, true, but it never stops Remus from trying.

 

Remus kind of sighs in the way where he doesn't want to admit James has totally had an objectively good idea.

 

"Well, Moony?"

 

"Yeah, they'll love it," Remus says, then sits up a little. "Although- if the house is penalized because of the party..."

 

Damn.

 

"Damn," James says out loud. It would not be very considerate. "How do I make sure no one gets out of control? I could supervise the party?"

 

"You couldn't resist the allure," Remus snorts. "And besides if you win no one will let you stay sober."

 

"So no alcohol?" James says. It sounds kind of tragic.

 

"James, we're fourteen."

 

James just gives a long sigh. A downside of asking Remus for advice versus asking Sirius is that Remus is 49302% more likely to negate his ideas.

 

"Look, an afterparty will happen anyways, knowing the older students. You can always do... something else. Like... help clean up after."

 

He can do that, sure, but it's not...

 

"That's not exactly a grand gesture," Peter interjects. When did he sneak in?! James takes a moment to recover, then another to realize he agrees.

 

"Yes, exactly!"

 

"James, maybe the whole point is that you don't make it about yourself," Remus tries, awkwardly.

 

James pouts for the rest of the afternoon, only because he's right.

 

Fine. So he wins, then he entertains, then he helps clean up. He can see how that would win points.

 

With that plan in mind, he turns to overwhelming his friends with his great consideration.

 

His first thoughts are great present ideas, but then he has the even greater idea of actually asking people what they think they'd like.

 

For Remus it's actually quite easy. He knows chocolate is a given, and Remus is friendly with quite a few of the girls, who are all strangely eager to help James nowadays. Their friendliness doubles when he explains he wants to be a better friend, even Lily Evans, who has been catching James' eye more and more these days, with her newly short red shock of hair.

 

"He loves reading, right, but I don't want to give him something just for the sake of it-"

 

There's a weird fluttering in the group. Even the side-liners seem to suppress endeared smiles. James doesn't really get that, because this part of the whole New Me plan is just the same old him.

 

"I saw him eyeing a book called something like Beast or Man in Flourish and Blotts, the other day," Maia Addai says. She's a drowsy sort of girl who he always forgets is friends with Peter, weirdly.

 

"Yeah, and you were eyeing him," Lily grins, to which Maia snorts. James' eyes hover on the grin. He wants Lily Evans to like him, too. There's just the whole Snivellus situation.

 

(Remus says maybe he should wait before he starts worrying about Lily Evans, who is a very distant if sort of friendly presence in James' life. Remus is actually friends with her, so maybe Remus would know.)

 

Beast or Man is out of stock, which poses a problem for a weaker sort of man. James, however, is made of stronger stuff. He goes to the teachers.

 

"I know lycanthropy isn't transfiguration, but technically it does fit under that umbrella, doesn't it, Professor? The difference is that the transformation isn't the result of an intentional magical process on the werewolf's part..."

 

McGonnagal peers severely at him, but her tone displays that she's not yet on the verge of kicking him out.

 

"I accept your argument, Mr. Potter. But your motivations need to be clarified."

 

"I'm trying to get a book for Remus," James says, earnest. McGonnagal's expression changes fast. "But it's gone from stores. Apparently it was old. I don't mind the money, and I would be tracking it myself, but there's school and I can't go traipsing around London every day. I was wondering if you happened to have it in your own books, maybe as a throwaway."

 

The professor blinks, clears her throat a tiny bit. James is pretty sure he's just won. He feels- good.

 

"What is this book, Mr. Potter?"

 

"Beast or Man?" James recites. "But, uh, Professor. The title doesn't bode too well for me."

 

Something about saying it opens a part of the older woman's expression that he rarely sees, appreciative without the usual exasperation.

 

"Astute observation, Mr. Potter. A work on individuals with lycanthropy which opens with a questioning of their humanity may not be quite the reading material I would encourage Mr. Lupin to pursue."

 

James nods with his tongue pressed to his cheek, and McGonnagal straightens her back and folds her hands together.

 

"Instead of subjecting your friend to pulp fiction, may I suggest Montesquieu's Essays on the matter?"

 

"French," James notes.

 

"I am afraid I don't own a copy in my current possession. However, I suppose if you have no other source, I could ask for-"

 

"Oh, no, no- it's French, Professor. Sirius definitely has it at home. Did you know he's fluent?"

 

To her credit, she simply raises a brow.

 

"Mr. Black remains full of surprises."

 

"Thanks for your time, Professor. You're my favourite, you know."

 

He swears there's a smile in the eyeroll.

 

"See you in class, Mr. Potter."

 

Sirius is easy to rope in, obviously. Stealing family heirlooms as well as helping James are two things he can always be counted on for.

 

They sit together on James' bed, curtains drawn, as they rifle through the book. It's old, nicely scripted parchment; Sirius' lips move subtly as he reads through.

 

Sirius' leg is cool pressed against his; James lies back on his elbows.

 

"Read me something."

 

"Amitié: parce que c'était lui, parce que c'était moi," Sirius recites, without looking at the page. Then he smiles, crooked, the way that makes James instinctively grin back. "I know this quote."

 

"What's it mean?"

 

"Friendship: because he was who he was, because I was who I was."

 

Sometimes Sirius says things that make James feel really alive. Like he needs to be someone big.

 

"You think Remus will like it?"

 

"Ouais," Sirius breathes. "Je crois. There's nothing in here that..."

 

James pauses, squints at him. Once in a while he has the idea that Sirius takes a great deal more care to shield Remus from harm than anyone else does.

 

"Siri, Pads. I need to pay you back for this. I wanted to do something nice for Remus. If it's all you, it's not fair."

 

Sirius huffs, but doesn't protest. It's well-established that Sirius gets it, but sometimes he exceptionally gets it.

 

"Are you planning on getting me something, too?"

 

"No, I decided I don't like you that much, hence you sharing my bedspace right now."

 

"Fuck off."

 

"Course I am. Haven't decided what, though."

 

"All right. In exchange for helping, I want... A cure for my boredom."

 

"You're bored? You could have said."

 

"No, not right now. But I am bored on a long-term sort of scale, Prongs. I want something to change. Cure my boredom."

 

A bored Sirius Black is a dangerous one, and more importantly a miserable one. One simply cannot have a miserable Sirius Black.

 

"Padfoot, you will never be bored again."

 

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Potter," Sirius grins, but his frown has vanished, and he lies down by James' side. "Can I sleep here? I'm not arsed to move back to my own bed."

 

"We should just stick our beds together, you know."

 

"Yeah, but then what happens when I've a bird over? Don't want you in on the action, do I?"

 

"You've not," James scoffs. "Not all the way."

 

"I am fifteen, Jamesie boy," Sirius says, just airily enough that James rolls over abruptly to stare him down.

 

"No fucking way. Who? Where? When? And you didn't tell me?"

 

At times like these even James' ego can admit Sirius scores some serious points. Then again, his ego has never seemed to find it difficult to coexist with Sirius.

 

It takes him a while to find something for Peter. Remus wolfs down (haha, wolf) his chocolate and then gets very quiet and suspiciously blotchy about the Essays, not least when James carefully reveals the translating spell he's come up with just in case Remus didn't feel like relying on Sirius, and it feels really good, matter of fact. There's a bit of a bounce in Remus' step, and James is... happy for him.

 

Consideration of others really isn't so bad.

 

Peter, however, is a problematic figure. As it turns out, he has no friends.

 

"Peter has friends-"

 

"James is right, he has none."

 

"Sirius, don't be a dick, he hangs out with a fair amount of people."

 

"Name one person who actually knows anything about him."

 

"Sirius..."

 

"For the record," James interjects, tapping his fingers against his knee, "As an unbiased party, I agree with Sirius."

 

"For Merlin's sake," Remus groans, and promptly leaves the room, casting real doubt over his claims that either of them are the drama queens of the group.

 

James meets Sirius' eyes, who shrugs.

 

"Don't ask me. Aren't you and Pete childhood friends?"

 

"So are you and, like, Narcissa Black."

 

"Hey, watch your big mouth, I'm being useful. Shouldn't your mum know his mum? Peter's mum is obsessed with the boy, Godric knows why."

 

"Sirius Black, you are a beacon in my dark life," James announces, and stands up to the full height his fourteen almost fifteen years allows to press a resounding kiss to his forehead. "I will return a knowledgeable man."

 

"Cheers," says Sirius, wiping his forehead. James winks at him as he left.

 

Mrs Pettigrew hasn't changed, as it turns out, and is very keen to drill James on her son even by owl post, answering his question only after three pages of interrogation and exclamation that give him emotional whiplash.

 

It appears Peter has a hidden love of punk singer Jinx, somewhere beneath his jumpers and nerves.

 

"Class," Sirius affirms, once James has shared the news. "Too basic for my liking, but all right otherwise, if you like washed out punk.”

 

"You're a pretentious knob," James retorts, brandishing his ticket. "Peter will love it."

 

"Probably will. Imagine he cries."

 

"Won't cry."

 

"Yeah, but if he did, though."

 

He ends up reviewing this with Remus, who seems mildly okay with it before stilling a little, lost in thought.

 

"D'you reckon he'll like it, though, being at a concert? He's not a fan of being pushed into crowds like that, is he?"

 

"Bollocks," James says, depressed. "Now I need to sell these."

 

"Or just get another one?"

 

At his stare Remus raises his palms defensively. "Then he can invite someone and he'll be okay?"

 

"You're a little genius," James says, admiringly. Remus only flushes a little. "God bless."

 

He makes sure they're VIP tickets, of course. Be a bit cheap otherwise.

 

Peter is well-pleased with his gifts, to the point that he stops slagging them off passive-aggressively for about three weeks, and invites James along to the concert. James keeps a bit of an eye on him, just in case, but Peter doesn't freak out once, except when Jinx signs his jumper. Then he doesn't shut up about if for about a week, until someone forcibly mutes him and it lasts like a day before Sirius lets James remove the hex.

 

Being nice has never been so easy.

 

Sirius troubles him. Sirius has plenty people to talk to, but his real friends are the three of them, and James is clearly and undisputedly the pinnacle thereof. So to get Sirius something really sick, he has to rely on only one source of information: himself.

 

Thing is, James can get him plenty of things he'll definitely like, but he's supposed to be being considerate. It's hard, being considerate to someone who not only puts up with but encourages your non-considerate streak.

 

Sirius wanted a cure for boredom; Sirius wanted change. Cures for boredom are James' speciality, but long term change, actually, is more Sirius than anyone else.

 

He's stuck, on that one. In the meantime he just looks for a really good present. And gets to thinking about Muggle music.

 

It takes longer than expected to rig up a record player, which to be fair is probably not very long at all (hey, he'd been a driving force behind creating the Map, okay). It just feels long when he doesn't have Sirius doing the rest of the work.

 

Harder than rigging up the player is choosing the disks.

 

"You know Sirius' music taste," Remus says, a little alarmed as James continues to pace aggressively. "You spent all summer listening to it. In fact, you don't listen to any Muggle music yourself, so all the tracks you think of he definitely likes!"

 

"It's not about him liking it," James groans. Why can't Sirius be around to understand the struggles James is facing in buying him a present? "It has to be considerate. It has to show I care."

 

Peter mutters something about regretting ever using that word; James generously ignores it.

 

"You know what, I'll ask Evans."

 

He in fact does ask Evans, and is struck once again by the fact she's getting really funny and really something to look at. Unfortunately, the encounter also ends in him being struck in the face, but that isn't really her fault.

 

She's dubious if polite when he starts, grows interested then intrigued as he continues, and looks almost a little excited now to know Sirius knows some of her own music.

 

“The hits this year are Waterloo, Kung Fu Fighting, Money by Pink Floyd, maybe Break The Rules by Status Quo," Evans enumerates, "I don't know what scene he fits into, but I figure it won't be bubble pop."

 

"Not likely, is it," James echoes, running the names through his head. He'll ask his parents to call him up to London for the weekend, go give them a listen, come back with what he can smuggle in.

 

"Oh, and... Killer Queen and Ain't Too Proud To Beg are probably the most fitting, but they're impossible to buy."

 

"Right, thanks, Lily."

 

"James?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Why are you doing all of this?"

 

He hesitates, scratched the back of his neck. "I've been told I can be a bit of a twat. I'm working on being considerate."

 

"Right," says Lily. He wonders if maybe they can become friends in fourth year after all.

 

"Potter spending money on his rich friend," Severus Snape interrupts, because of fucking course he was creeping in the doorway like the slimy prick he is. "Truly a touching effort on his part."

 

"You'd know, considering you have no friends," James retorts, skin prickling. He and Snape have been at it since their first meeting, but somewhere mid-third year it'd started to grow into this full-on antagonism, and a couple of times this year it's gotten physical. "You know, aside from Lily, who would feel bad dumping you after all the years of you leeching her lifeforce, probably."

 

"Shut up, James," Lily says, warningly, and turns to frown at her friend. "Sev, I was just helping him find presents, leave it."

 

"Find presents," Snape repeats, mockingly. James burns with the desire to kick his ass. "Perhaps you're right. I imagine it's the first time Potter doesn't requisition his house-elf for it."

 

"No need to bring house-elves into this just because one likely birthed you, Snivellus," James snaps, and promptly gets thumped on the head by a book.

 

"OUT of my library!" Madam Pince screeches. James neglects to mention that this counts as child abuse.

 

Both Snape and Lily look mildly vindicated as he makes his way out. Fuck Snape and his awful timing.

 

"Fuck Snape and his awful timing," James says to Sirius, as soon as he spots him disinterestedly fixing one of the moving portraits just down the hall from the library.

 

"Amen," Sirius says, without even looking at him. Then he does, and his gaze is- weird. Heavy. A little metallic. James doesn't feel like it bodes well.

 

"Since when do you go to the library on your own?"

 

"Wasn't on my own," James says, flinging an arm around Sirius' shoulders as they approach the stairs. "I went to ask Lily Evans for advice."

 

"Lily Evans," Sirius repeats, a little dour. "Hence Snape's bad timing."

 

"Yep," James nods, distracted already. Seeing Sirius sort of wiped the whole scenario out of his head. "Hey, don't we have detention?"

 

"We do," Sirius says, still in that weird tone. "Hence me trying to find you."

 

James notices the map poking out of his bag, slung halfway onto his shoulder, feels a little bad for like a second.

 

"Well, you found me, didn't you?" And then, because he's actually starting to do really well with this whole consideration thing: "Say, you feel like coming up to London with me this weekend?"

 

Sirius is an awfully expressive bloke. It's made very clear how gloomy he'd been when said gloom vanishes abruptly.

 

Sirius makes James want to do things for someone else than himself on the daily, actually, which isn't revolutionary no matter what Snivellus Snape maintains, but it's different than being nice or making a bit of an effort. Sirius is a tremendously difficult person, and he's all or nothing, really. If you don't give 100% he can tell, and then he's pissy about it for weeks.

 

He has a terrible character, Sirius does, sometimes. Honestly- moody and touchy and jealous like you would not believe. It's a good thing for them that James is so accepting of his many many flaws.

 

Remus likes to point out there are many people who share these flaws and James doesn't seem so accepting of them. He's trying to make the point that Sirius is special, which James finds redundant. Of course Sirius is special. Christ. People other than him and Sirius really do not get things, sometimes.

 

So he and Sirius go up to London for extremely disputable reasons that can't really be disputed because his parents approved it, Sir. Sirius' parents definitely don't even know, but Sirius is really good at imitating their signatures, ever since he had to fake them to get to go to Hogsmeade. They don't really need authorization to get there anyways, what with the cloak and the secret passages, but nevertheless, it's always cool seeing Sirius charm a quill into tracing the right loops.

 

James' parents adore James and have recently begun to include Sirius in the James package, so they have a brill time at home, really. It's just quite hard to find a reason to ditch Sirius and go buy the records.

 

In the end he just tells him.

 

"Mate, listen, I have to go buy your present. I'm gonna pop out for a bit."

 

Sirius blinks from where he's lying upside down, trying to see if he can down a bottle of cheap Muggle alcohol. It makes his throat do interesting things.

 

James waits. Sirius sets the bottle down, wipes his mouth, rolls onto his stomach.

 

"This wasn't it?"

 

"The- what?" James suddenly sees the weekend in perspective. Oh. No, that wasn't what he'd wanted to do.

 

"I just figured..." Sirius says, trails off. James is struck by the fact he finds this- cute. It's cute he considers a weekend away to see James' folks a present. James feels kind of bad because he just invited him along because it had seemed like a good idea, but also kind of good because it shows he's on the right track.

 

"No, I mean. This was just random. I though you might like to come along, and 'sides it's better when you're here. But it's not your actual present. Or your thanks for helping present."

 

"That's a lot of presents," Sirius says, carefully lying back down. "Really not necessary, mate. I even know all about your plans, so it's not like I'll be surprised."

 

"As if I'd get Remus and Pete something but not you," James snorts. "Idiot."

 

"I'm just saying," Sirius says, but he sounds pleased.

 

James spends forever in the record shop. It's not even a wizard thing, because in the summer he and Sirius went to a bunch of these so Sirius could pick album posters to stick on his walls, but just a him really not wanting to fuck this up thing. A lot of the songs are good Sirius songs, but he wants them to be, you know, great Sirius songs.

 

Money by Pink Floyd is good. The rest...

 

He doesn't realize it's been like two hours and then some until a tall, sick looking man wearing a lot of leather and badges appears in front of him and considers him.

 

"You been in here for a while. First time shopper?"

 

"No," James says, and flashes him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, am I in the way? I'm looking for something specific."

 

"Didn't look like a first-timer," the man says, eyes still flat, but something in his face has shifted a little, as often happens when James smiles genuinely at people. He's got a little ironic tag that says Charles on his lapel. "What's the name of the record? We might have it in the back."

 

"Oh," James says, shakes his head. "No, it's not a specific record. I just need to find some that specifically match someone."

 

Now Charles does consider him with warmer eyes.

 

"Let me see what you've been listening to... Hm. And these didn't work?"

 

"They did," James answers, a little sheepish. "But they're not- not quite enough."

 

Charles looks back at the records, back at James.

 

"Not quite enough? Some girl you've got there, bud."

 

"He's not a girl," James corrects, before he can even think of why the man would assume otherwise. Although girl makes him think of Lily, and her recommendations- he's forgotten to look at the last two.

 

"You wouldn't happen to have Killer Queen or Ain't Too Proud To Beg here, would you?"

 

When he looks up Charles' vaguely aggressive stance is completely altered, instead replaced by a sort of distant but benevolent curiosity.

 

"They're not really for sale."

 

James bites his tongue. Great.

 

"Tell you what, though. Tell me about your friend, I'll see if I should give them a spin."

 

He snaps his head up to meet the man's eyes, feels a smile grow on his face as he runs a hand through his hair. He likes this Muggle.

 

"Thanks, sir."

 

"Don't call me sir," Charles says, laughs a little like he's surprised. It comes out a painful hacking sound. "Tell me about the boy."

 

"His name is Sirius," James says, and then pauses. Where to start? "We met when we were eleven. We go to the same, um, boarding school, see. His parents are right arseholes, and everyone expected him to follow in their footsteps and go to the House where all the pureb- where all the bigots go. I didn't really know who he was, when I met him on the train, but he has like... He's very noticeable. And once you've noticed him, if he notices you, it's hard to resist talking to him."

 

He scrunches his nose. It's nice and quiet, in the shop. The record playing is slow and jazzy. "We didn't talk for very long before we got Sorted- that is, chose our House. Or got our House chosen. And he chose Gryffindor."

 

"That where you went?" Charles asks, maybe picking up the pride in his voice.

 

"Yeah. His family hates him now. Some of them actually tried to get him killed. He looked like he couldn't have cared less, though. Mad cool." James thinks back, sobers a little. "Course, he did. But he's real good at hiding that, Sirius. He was taught never to emote. And he's very messed up inside, I think. Not that I care- doesn't matter, but it's unfair, that they make him so miserable. Didn't ask to be born in that family."

 

"People rarely do."

 

"Yeah, well. Anyways..." James tries to think of something more to say, because there's too much to say, is the thing. "People tell me I'm really charismatic and all, but it's not the same as him. He's like a proper magnet. When Sirius walks in people look. He looks a bit like a rocker, actually, even though he's the same age as me- like one of the blokes on these albums. It's the hair, probably. Or just the way he holds himself."

 

"Sounds like a heartbreaker."

 

James laughs. "Nah... I mean probs, yeah, but he's never interested in anyone that's into him. Too busy being a rebel. My mum says if I settle down he might follow, but I don't think either of us is anywhere old enough to settle down anytime soon."

 

"Terrors of your boarding school, then?"

 

"They love us, really."

 

"Proper duo you two are," Charles says, somewhere between knowing and amused. "So why are you buying him a record?"

 

"Well," James says. Then he smiles. "He called me a tosser, so now I'm being considerate."

 

Charles fixes him for a long hard moment, and then abruptly turns away.

 

"Stay here."

 

He comes back bearing two records, another one that he goes to place besides the player.

 

James plays Killer Queen first, and he knows Sirius will love Queen. His face must say so, because Charles snorts.

 

"He a Queen man?"

 

"Who are they?" James asks. For a moment Charles just stares.

 

Ain't Too Proud To Beg is no less a pleasant surprise, but It's Only Rock And Roll wins him over more. James cheekily grabs another Stones record called Sweet Black Angel to add to the pile.

 

That's four. He adds Breathe by Pink Floyd. Hooked On A Feeling by Blue Suede. Walk On The Wild Side by Lou Reed.

 

When he's done with his picking, Charles nods towards the counter.

 

"You know they're not free, right. And you've gone for pricey ones."

 

"Course," James smiles, well pleased with his bundle. He's got eight of them, if he counts. "Is, uh, two hundred pounds enough?"

 

He has no idea how Muggle money works. Charles inhales longly.

 

"That's definitely enough, kiddo. But half of it at least needs to go back into your wallet."

 

"Right-o," James says. Then freezes. "What's that playing?"

 

"Starman, Bowie," Charles says, immediately, before raising a brow. "Now you're going to tell me you want it too."

 

"Yes," James nods, intent. Yes, this Bowie man has caught an entirely different side of Sirius. It seems like a sign, the name; a Starman for a star.

 

When he's done paying and thanking Charles profusely, the older man stops and gives him a serious, piercing look.

 

"Never let this go. You've got something rare like this, you never let it go. You understand? Hold on to that boy."

 

James suddenly understands a lot of things about the man in front of him, and doesn't have the heart to correct him, not when it matters so much.

 

"Maybe we can come visit together, over Christmas. He'd like the shop."

 

"Christmas," Charles says, quietly. Somehow James knows he won't be around by Christmas. It troubles him.

 

"Know what? I think I have a picture, now that I think about it. To add to your wall of rock stars."

 

He whispers his spell quietly, disguised under the rustle of the bag as he pretends to search his coat pockets, pulls out a photograph.

 

Oh, he recognizes this one. It's nice enough that he'd feel sorry giving it away, if he didn't have a Sirius on hand to take new photos with.

 

"Little rock star indeed," Charles mumbles.

 

His eyes travel over the triumphant raised arms, the dark hair whipping in the wind, then the eyes, just this side of sea-water, pride meeting the upwards tilt of the lips.

 

“You have a good eye for this,” the man eventually says, and James smiles even though it hurts him a little, knowing what he does.

 

Sirius has appropriated his sweater when he comes back, and his hair is tied back in an approximation of a braid. It’s getting just long enough that you could actually braid it, if you knew how.

 

“Successful trip?”

 

“I hope so,” James says, puts the bag down carefully before throwing himself on the bed. “If you even try to look inside I’ll throw you out of the window.”

 

“Piece of paper went flying out of your drawer, earlier,” Sirius says, nodding towards the desk. “Was that you?”

 

“Yeah,” James sighs. “We should get Mary MacDonald to lend us her thingy over summer again. Camcorder.”

 

“Camera, innit,” Sirius corrects. “Someone not paying attention in Muggle studies?”

 

“Sod off,” James yawns. He’s actually sort of tired. “What’d you want to do tomorrow? We’re free all day.”

 

“Dunno,” Sirius admits. “I’ve been going crazy cooped up all day, though, except when your parents took me out for lunch.”

 

“They did? Where?”

 

“The pub. Was nice. They’re cool, your folks.”

 

“I know,” James says, then stills. “You and dad didn’t…”

 

“Mr. Fleamont and I had a great talk, yeah,” Sirius says, and now there’s a slyness in his voice. “He wants me to model for the brand, would you believe that.”

 

“Liar,” James tries to say, but he knows by the despair in his bones it’s not a lie. His father absolutely would. “Oh, Merlin. You didn’t say yes, did you?”

 

“Course I said yes,” Sirius smirks. “Not often you get asked to model for an internationally winsome hair brand.”

 

“I actually can’t stand you,” James groans. “Get out of my house.”

 

“Aw, James. Don’t take it like this. I know you’ve always dreamt of modelling for Sleakeazy.”

 

“Sirius Black, your days are numbered.”

 

Sirius laughs, the bark-like laugh that he does when it’s actually funny to him somehow, and James turns to grin at him, sideways and all. He wishes Sirius lived here all the time. Like that they’d go straight from Hogwarts to home, and he’d never need to spend days upon days wondering if Sirius had gotten his owl at all or if his parents had intercepted or if Sirius was being held in some dungeon never to return. He’d had that idea a lot between first and second year.

 

For a second he almost says out loud that he wishes they were brothers, but for the first time something in the word bothers him a tiny bit. Sirius and Regulus, his lame Slytherin clone, are brothers. Lily Evans has an awful sister called Tulip or something who always seems angry to see her. James’ cousins are twins and they hate each other. James doesn’t particularly want that.

 

“You should live here forever,” he says instead.

 

“Yeah?” Sirius asks, not like he takes it seriously.

 

“Yeah,” James says, and means it seriously.

 

The match against Slytherin comes up faster than he expected, and James throws himself into training, meeting Sirius’ eye every few minutes from where he sits in the stands doing Merlin knows what. There’s a whole gaggle of people who come to watch their training sessions, and James suspects a few come solely to watch Sirius. It’s happening more and more, now that they’re older.

 

James is sort of aiming for being team Captain, next year, and to be honest there’s no real competition. He’s probably the best player they’ve had in years, loves Quidditch like nothing else, trains hard and well, comes up with solid strategies even in the air, and he’s actually a pretty good team player, which always seems to surprise people. Unlike in other areas, there isn’t even the issue of him not taking it seriously enough or needing to step up and prove a, b or c- his messing around never puts their winning-streak in danger.

 

“Potter,” Johnson calls. Good team captain, that guy. Nice guy, too. It’s his last year, though, and even though there are a number of current-sixth-future-seventh-years who could arguably deserve the title more than James does, considering he’ll just have entered fifth year, everyone knows he’s eyeing him more than the rest. It doesn’t seem to have created many grudges, thankfully. The team likes him. “Could you try and show Turner that move you did the other day? The one with the shoulder roll. It’d be good for a Seeker.”

 

“Sure thing,” James grins. He loves it when his improv tricks make it into record books. It’s what scored him a spot in the team as early as his second year, after all.

 

They work on their Hawkshead Attacking Formation, and James amuses himself by trying to recreate a Finbough Flick. He nearly breaks his neck more than he nearly succeeds, but the team leaves him to it, mostly.

 

It’s when he goes for a Chelmondiston Charge that Sirius whistles sharply from the stands, calling him over, and James flips back onto his broom to glide over to him, sitting comfortably cross-legged on his broom.

 

“You can stand on your broom?”

 

“Course I can,” James boasts, and does just that, tilting his legs so he can circle Sirius slowly, absolutely showing off. “I could show you how.”

 

Sirius shakes his head, pensive.

 

“Can you dance on a broom?”

 

James hums, goes for a ridiculous ballet pose and almost falls off.

 

“I can hardly dance on the ground.”

 

“Not like that, nitwit,” Sirius grins, gestures for James to lower so they’re on the same level, him standing on the bench and James standing on his broom. “You wouldn’t want to lift your leg up so much. You could waltz or something. One-two-three.”

 

James imitates the one-two-three with acceptable success.

 

“Yeah, that looks odd. What about, like…” Sirius begins to dance a little, definitely not a waltz, knees bending to twist him somehow sideways as his arms swing. It looks like something with a bass line.

 

“That’s not how normal people dance,” James says, even as he imitates the sway. It’s easier than the stiffness of the waltz. Sirius grins, does a new segment; James follows. For a moment they just dance around, with no music, with James standing on a broom floating above a killer drop.

 

“Happy now?” James asks, once he’s decided he’s had enough.

 

“Keep working on that,” Sirius smiles, like someone with ideas.

 

“Potter,” Johnson calls, loud but not angry. “Unless Black is finally taking up our offer to grab a bat and a broom, I don’t think he’s an official part of Gryffindor team.”

 

“He’s our mascot, Captain!” James protests, hopping back into straddling his broom. “Our proverbial good luck charm!”

 

“And your unbiased commentator,” Sirius adds, nodding wisely.

 

“Best keep the comments for the match, then,” Johnson’s girlfriend calls, and Sirius retreats, grinning.

 

There’s a week left before the match when James decides to give Sirius his present. He doesn’t know why he waited so long, actually- it’s been about a month since this whole thing with consideration started, and Remus and Peter both got theirs within a week of each at the most.

 

“These are nice,” Remus agrees, tentative as he peers at the records. “I mean, I haven’t listened to them. But they look nice. Or rather- I think he’ll really like them.”

 

“Mh,” James says. He’s a little nervy, actually, for no good reason.

 

“Sirius would like anything you gave him, really,” Peter points out. James pulls a face. That’s what he’s been trying to avoid.

 

“You guys genuinely liked your stuff, though, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter says, enthusiastically. “It was… really cool. My mum would’ve never let me go, at home, and…” He trails off, blushes a little.

 

“What are friends for?” James interjects, smiling to let him know it’s all good. Peter’s an awkward little creature, sometimes.

 

“They were good choices,” Remus agrees, softly. He’s having a hard time looking James in the eyes. “I think better than I would have chosen for myself.”

 

James looks at them, properly, and sees his two best friends, happy and a little shy about it, in that odd way that gratefulness inspires. It’s a good moment.

 

Sirius chooses this moment to barge in swearing up a storm, eyes blazing and clothes sodden as he kicks his wet boots off. One goes flying onto Peter’s bed, who physically cringes.

 

“-Ugly piece of shit ghoul, I’ll show him-”

 

“What the hell, Sirius?”

 

Sirius stops, nostrils flaring, sets his jaw and throws himself onto the floor in a heap, anger simmering lower.

 

“I just got jumped by fucking McNeary and two goons on my way back from Hooch’s, is what, and the fucking cowards only ambushed me for the time they knew I couldn’t fucking fight back-”

 

“What were you doing at Hooch’s?” James asks, at the same time as Peter asks “Why were they there?” and Remus asks “Are you okay?”. Sirius sighs loudly.

 

“I wanted to ask her about how broomsticks are made to fly, they’re fuckheads, Peter, how should I know, and of course I’m okay.”

 

“Assholes,” James mutters. “We’ll get them back.”

 

Sirius sniffs in a way that James can only describe as haughty. He’s actually tried it once or twice; Remus asked him if he had a cold, which is either actual concern or cold mockery, depending on what kind of mood Remus was in.

 

“Pathetic, three on one like that. Bet they didn’t think I’d see their mugs.”

 

He’s calmer now, though, sags more comfortably against the foot of Remus’ bed. Peter discreetly dumps his boots on the floor.

 

“Hey, Padfoot,” James says, into the brief silence. “Figure I should give you your present sometime.”

 

Sirius’ eyes flick upwards, and his head tilts left, making him look for all in the world like the bedraggled puppy he becomes once a month. James forgets what he was going to say for all of ten seconds; is reassured that no one noticed by the fact that Remus’ cheeks have gone pink slightly.

 

“Let’s have it, then.”

 

James hands over the carefully hidden bag, and wishes it didn’t feel like his palms were sweating. This is really stupid. He’s just given Sirius a present, not put his life on the line.

 

Sirius rustles a little, pulls out one record after the other before he gets to the record player, upon which his face goes a little slack, and James’ pulse feels loud. Anyone else might have asked some dull question like does it really work? or how on earth did you manage that? but the thing about Sirius is that he takes it for granted that James has made this work, or else he wouldn’t have given it, would he.

 

He slides Starman out its sleeve first, just like James knew he would, and Merlin it feels good to always be right. Then he places it onto the player, positions it right, and then finally he looks at James expectantly, like work your magic.

 

James flicks his wand, and the insides of the machine start churning like they would were there some of that Muggle craft plugged into it. Sirius’ eyes stay on him right until the first notes, and then he’s staring down at the record player and James can no longer see his expression.

 

He’s been quiet enough that James objectively knows this has been a good present, but James always wants to know for sure. Bowie’s voice begins to drawl through the room, and Peter looks mildly scared, while Remus looks fascinated. James shuffles to the edge of his bed, still can’t see.

 

They sit like that for a while, the music playing, and then Sirius shifts. He hasn’t heard James move, clearly, because he blinks at seeing him so close, but his expression is strange anyways, like it was the first time James asked him to come home for Christmas. It’s a good expression.

 

“Thanks,” Sirius says, all low and young sounding. It makes James’ stomach feel hollow, like he really doesn’t deserve this, like this Sirius needs to be immediately moved to a safe place and hidden from sight. It’s all he says, too, and it hits James he might be at a loss for words.

 

The room stays this quiet until the others drift off, and Sirius finally snaps out of his weird stupor to get out of his sodden clothes. James watches the light filter through the bathroom door and holds his breath guiltily as Sirius hovers by his bed on the way back.

 

“You’re dry, right?” James manages, because he really can’t understand why he’s been so weird around Sirius on and off these past few weeks, and regardless of why he knows he’s not about to allow it to make things awkward. It’s Sirius, for the love of everything magical. “I don’t want to catch hypothermia.”

 

“Why are you stalking me in the dark?” Sirius retorts, but he clambers in next to him and shuffles until he’s gotten his arms comfortably under his head. James pokes his foot out to feel his leg, draws it back when he finds it cold.

 

“Maybe you should make less noise when you’re creeping by.”

 

“Maybe you should mind your own business.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t make your business my business.”

 

“Maybe you should shut up.”

 

James laughs, and Sirius snickers good-naturedly. The silence this time is one James is familiar with, and he closes his eyes with the knowledge that when he wakes Sirius will still be there, probably awake but waiting for him to wake up.

 

“Prongs?”

 

“Hmh?”

 

“They’re really good records.”

 

“Hm,” James mumbles, sleepily. Of course they are. He’s James Potter, and he is a considerate person.

 

  
Peter tells him in a tone that might be conciliatory that if he keeps sleeping with Sirius past Christmas people will think he’s gay.

 

“People already think you’re gay,” James replies, carelessly. It might have been a bit of a cheap shot, he realises later. He actually meant it more like he doesn’t care, but people always have to make things he says about themselves.

 

He honestly doesn’t care if people think he’s gay, or whatever. It might be a problem once he wants a girlfriend, but he’s all right as of now. Fourth year is a bit early, and he has Quidditch to think of first. Once he’s Captain, he’s game.

 

Aside from getting a girlfriend, though, it becomes a matter of people’s opinions, and as much as James wants people to like him that doesn’t mean he wants douchebags to like him. He’s not delusional. The people who would care don’t strike him as people whose opinion he cares for.

 

Besides, how is is any of their business?

 

“Peter is burning his pink clothing,” Remus says, in a tone that would be concerned but is too used to them to truly commit, as they sit down for breakfast. “Do I want to know?”

 

“Remus, if you were into blokes, I want you to know I would support that,” James says, and watches as Remus spews orange juice everywhere.

 

“WH-Wh- James, what the fuck,” Remus coughs, which is maybe a little funnier than anticipated. “How is that- I-”

 

James thinks Remus might actually be into blokes.

 

“Morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Sirius sing-songs, dropping in next to Remus and stealing his toast as he attempts to stop coughing. “What did I miss?”

 

“Peter is an insecure young man,” James answers, and Sirius shrugs like it’s not exactly news. James has yet to meet a human being who accepts James’ wisdom with such ease.

 

“You ready for the game?”

 

“Yeah, pretty much. One last training session tonight. Apparently it’ll rain.”

 

“You’ll have to do that thing with your glasse- for Salazar’s sake, Moony, are you dying?”

 

As expected, Sirius plays his records non-stop. It’ll eventually drive someone to distraction, but that someone will not be James, and thus far their roommates are more enthralled than annoyed by the music and the Muggle tech.

 

He plays Starman later in the day, and quieter than the rest, James notes. It vindicates him somehow.

 

Three days before the match James wakes up from a nap, body still aching from practice, and spots Sirius thumping down the stairs into the common room with his record player levitating after him.

 

He’s halfway down the stairs when he realises he’s left his glasses and has to run back and get them, recreating the original sprint at a slower speed the second time round. Music reaches him about halfway down, and as he gets to ground level he can see the room turned towards its source- the record player hoisted atop a bookshelf, Sirius climbing onto a table.

 

There are a handful sudden joyful exclamations as the song begins to hit its groove, which James traces to the Muggleborns in the room, but mostly everyone stares with open fascination at the item as Sirius begins dancing on the table, long limbs moving easily along with the music.

 

_If I could stick my pen in my heart_   
_And spill it all over the stage_   
_Would it satisfy ya, would it slide on by ya_   
_Would you think the boy is strange?_   
_Ain't he strange?_

 

There’s movement as the older Muggleborns coerce their friends into dancing along, the younger ones content with quietly singing along with their eyes on Sirius, and Sirius continues his carefree routine with his eyes closed and his hair flung wildly from side to side.

 

Their year is starting to get really into it, whistling and dancing along, and James still holds back, uncharacteristically perhaps. He rarely gets the chance to observe like this.

_If I could stick a knife in my heart_   
_Suicide right on stage_   
_Would it be enough for your teenage lust_   
_Would it help to ease the pain?_   
_Ease your brain?_

 

Seventh years are working their way towards the music, and James watches as Sirius opens his eyes to grin down at the nearest girl, who grins back and takes the hand he offers to join him on the table.

 

From there on it’s like some kind of ice has been broken, with those not dancing at least shouting nonsense along, trying to approximate the lyrics they don’t know. By the last repeats of the chorus, Gryffindor House is a beautiful chaos.

 

Killer Queen opens on the high of the Stones, and James hears a truly impressive scream come from Lily Evans, who Sirius focuses on at the sound.

 

_'Let them eat cake,' she says_   
_Just like Marie Antoinette_

 

“Come on, Evans…”

 

_At anytime an invitation_   
_You can't decline_

 

Lily Evans gives Sirius what can best be described as a roguish grin and pulls him down from the table onto the impromptu dance floor, where they vanish from James’ sight as a swirl of black and red.

 

The music stays pulsing across all nine records, and James’ eyes stay, transfixed, on the sway that resides in Sirius’ body. He may have brought the music, but Sirius isn’t transported by the music, no- Sirius is the director of an invisible orchestra, and the room is moving because he is.

 

Sirius doesn’t see him, actually, or if he does he doesn’t react. But James sees him after, a little punch-drunk, casual like he hasn’t just burst into the common room and turned it into a dance floor, inky hair sticking to the side of his face, lips red and eyes bright.

 

“Have a good time?” James asks, like he doesn’t know.

 

“Should’ve been there,” Sirius responds, a little out of breath, because he’s Sirius Black and you can never beat him at the ambiguity game.

 

They win, against Slytherin. Of course they do.

 

James already has that winning feeling when he wakes up, somewhere in his chest, but he’s not dumb enough to rely on pure cockiness to cruise through life (yes, really). Just because he knows he’ll win doesn’t mean he ever half-asses things.

 

Sirius refuses to get up even when James rolls him off the bed, but James knows he’ll get there eventually because he’s commentator. Instead he gobbles down breakfast with Peter, in the kitchens, because the elves are happy to serve at any hour and he needs an early start.

 

Peter is a good strategist, and has been loyally following the sport since a young age the same way James has, so they go over Slytherin’s weaknesses together, cracking bad jokes along the way. Then James catches up to his team and salutes Peter, who salutes back with a wink.

 

Game face on.

 

It is fucking howling outside, miserable weather, the kind that means no less than two players actually slide off their brooms and need to be removed from the match, but it’s not quite bad enough that Dumbledore calls an end to it, which is good, because James works well under pressure, takes advantage of the nerves to pull not one put two feints on the opposition and put them in the lead.

 

“And Potter puts another one in, to even Slytherin team’s confusion- maybe they’d be less confused as to how he scored if their head had been in the game and not up their arse-“

 

It’s a comfortable win if the Seeker does his job, but Turner is notoriously shaky if his confidence is rattled. James is trying to do three things at once, now- get his hands on the Quaffle, check where the Bludgers are, and help their Seeker towards the Snitch.

 

Quaffle is easy. Bludgers miss him a little too closely once or twice, and don’t miss him at all the third time.

 

“Potter takes a Bludger to the face, and honestly I’d like to thank Slytherin team, because it’s about time someone messed with the goods-“

 

The rain is plastering his hair to his face as well as loosening his grip on his broomstick. It's disheartening to the crowds as the game drags on, and importantly also making things very dangerous indeed. James doesn't like it when it's this way, can just see someone slip and fall just too fast to be caught mid-air.

 

What the hell is Turner doing?

 

James spots the Snitch just as he pulls out of a nasty Slytherin tackle. Slytherin have been slowly evening the score, and Turner needs to get to the bloody Snitch.

 

"Eyes open, Turner!" Johnson yells. James has a sudden idea.

 

He steers his broom upwards at full speed, recklessly upright, calculating just how far to his right the Seeker is, and yes, the Snitch sees him coming and zooms away, away towards Turner, who sees the gold closer than its been all match and finally gives proper chase, the Slytherin Seeker belatedly adding himself to the hunt.

 

James' hold on his broom fails him for one terrifying moment as he tries to head back down, and he feels the hard truth of vertigo strangle him before he regains balance and exhales his hysteria.

 

A Bludger whizzes right past him.

 

Thankfully, Turner now in hot pursuit, James can focus on keeping the Quaffle away from their own goal, and not even for long. He's just executed a beautiful pass to Begley, who scores, when Sirius' voice cuts through the downpour.

 

"AND TURNER FINALLY GRABS THE SHINY BUGGER, PUTTING GRYFFINDOR HOUSE SAFELY IN THE LEAD AND MAKING SURE WE GET TO KEEP THAT GOLDEN TROPHY WHERE IT BELONGS IN MCGONNAGAL'S ROOM!"

 

James whoops, then it really sinks in and he whoops again, zooming downward to where his team is rushing to collide with Turner, mixing playful reproach with genuine exhilaration. To his delight the team immediately turns on him, once he's leveled, and by the brightly appreciative look in Johnson's eye he's gotten that spot.

 

The crowd is still cheering, even amidst the rain, and then James swears he hears music, snaps his head up to see Sirius grinning back at him through the booth.

 

Somehow, yes, somehow, the record player is in the booth, and the pitch speakers are playing not Sirius' voice but the steady drumming of the Rolling Stones.

 

There's a rumble of confusion in the stands, and James very slowly and carefully places one foot then the other on his broomstick, then stands with arms outstretched, and conducts.

 

Gryffindor House, having heard this song in their common room for hours, sings it like a war-cry.

 

_I said I know it's only rock 'n' roll but I like it_   
_I know it's only rock 'n' roll but I like it, like it, yes, I do_   
_Oh, well, I like it, I like it, I like it_

 

Sirius manages to keep the record safely going until two-thirds of the way in, but the roaring continues, and when James closes his eyes with his arms still spread wide the rain feels like a symphony.

 

"Knew you'd win," Sirius hollers, once James is being carried on his team's shoulders out of the changing rooms, and Gryffindor House is reaching to touch the Cup in his arms.

 

"You beautiful bastard," James calls, admiringly, over the cheer. He more than knew, if he planned the song.

 

He joins Sirius in detention out of principle two days later, and argues with Dumbledore that it's better if he just lets him have detention than not, because otherwise James will just have to do something detention-worthy.

 

Binns has droned so much he's accidentally floated into the broom closet, so Sirius is starting to jitter more obviously, never one for sitting still as his chair rocks back dangerously far. It reminds James that a) Sirius is a liability to his own self even when he's not in a mood and b) he has something for him.

 

"Catch," James says, and swears Sirius' ears twitch in a canine manner as he instinctively grabs at the Snitch.

 

"Stole yourself a Snitch again?"

 

"This one's yours," James winks. He honestly maybe has a problem with borrowing school Snitches. It's just that James likes toying with them and the first time Sirius distracted him long enough he left with the Snitch still in his hands.

 

Sirius leans way back in his chair and releases the Snitch, who flies around him confused for a beat before he deigns reach out for it.

 

"Neat."

 

James laughs long enough that Sirius kicks his chair out from under him, just from the incongruity of hearing that.

 

He's still giggling on the floor when Sirius glares and towers over him, foot on his chest mock-threateningly.

 

"You're a dickhead."

 

"Neat," James wheezes, and rolls to avoid a kick.

 

Sirius huffs very theatrically and seats himself on what had been James' desk about a minute ago, leaving him to scramble upright and climb on the desk behind him.

 

"Ow. You hurt my back."

  
  
"Sorry," Sirius smiles, disarmingly. James rolls his eyes.

 

He's never been one to fall over his feet at Sirius' charms like everyone else, but he's a lot more consistently charmed by Sirius in general than the average populace, he thinks. Maybe charmed isn't the right word- he just likes him.

 

"I still owe you a present, huh," James muses, when Sirius starts humming Breathe. "For the help."

 

"Aren't we done with that?" Sirius asks, kicking a leg into James' lap. "I need you to stop being considerate soon so we can get back at those sixth year Slytherins."

 

"What's the offense?"

 

"I hate them?"

 

James would like anyone who calls him a bit of a twat to at least take a look at the extenuating circumstances of having Sirius as a best mate.

 

"So, Sirius is suffering from existential apathy," he tells Peter, over tea. "What can I do?"

 

"Have you finished Transfiguration?" Peter asks, unfazed. "I really need to copy. I didn't get past page one of the reading."

 

"Mate, I told you, we'll go over the reading and you can write it yourself."

 

"This is last week's, Prongs. I already got an extension."

 

"Oh, really? Go ahead, in that case."

 

"Thanks," Peter says. His quill starts to scratch out a hasty copy of the notes. "Yeah, existential apathy? He does that every once so often. It'll pass."

 

James' flat stare is probably tangible, because he eventually looks up and squirms a little.

 

"I don't know, James, aren't you the one who usually gets him to stop storming about in byronic agonies in the first place?"

 

"I like your vocabulary," James answers, reflecting that he's sure their collective vocabulary had to expand solely to cover all of Sirius' moods. Except maybe Remus, because Remus is well-read and also reads trashy romance novels.

 

"It worries me you think romance novels make me qualified to advise you about Sirius," Remus replies to this, side-stepping like a pro. "James. I don't know. I only ever step in when you don't instinctively solve the issue."

 

"Let's say it's an abstract philosophical question, then. What kind of change can I operate on such a small scale?"

 

Remus smothers a smile, unable to find a proper comeback to the pseudo-intellectualism, just as James predicted.

 

"You can't exactly push the boundaries of school much further, and you can't fix his family, unless your parents adopt him or something."

 

"Could they?!"

 

"No, James, Sirius' parents still have familial authority."

 

"So then what?"

 

"I don't know... Spice up your routine?"

 

"Our routine is spiced and seasoned," James sighs. "That won't do."

 

Back to him, he supposes.

 

Or not, in fact, because Sirius Black makes even James’ difficulties with him easier to solve. James honestly doesn’t know what people do without a Sirius on the side. Live depressing, empty and meaningless lives, he guesses.

 

Anyway. Sirius makes things easier by first making things hard.

 

“Padfoot? Padfoot. I know you’re in here. PADFOOT.”

 

“Mr. Potter, the walls may have ears, but I suggest you do not tire them,” McGonnagal comments, dryly. “Whatever are you shouting for?”

 

“Well,” James says, because he can’t very well say Sirius is holed up in the Room of Requirement like a petty fuck. “Honestly, you probably don’t want to know. But I promise it’s not mischief.”

 

Sirius Black is so ridiculously touchy. It never ceases to amaze James how much vitriol and violence he can laugh off only to then be in a shit mood for weeks just because James forgot his birthday or told him he couldn’t pull off a sleeveless shirt.

 

For the record, James has done neither of these things.

 

Anyways this time he supposes he might have seen it coming, were he taking Sirius into account, but as it happens he wasn’t and he was simply interacting like a normal human being, not to mention he’s still in a weird mood after formal hall the other night.

 

It’s funny, really, James can eat anything without flinching usually, but he’s had an off feeling in his stomach since then. Maybe he ate more cause he had no one to talk to, since Sirius spent the whole night with fifth year Hufflepuffs who invited him to play records and smoke weed.

 

Remus, for some reason, maintains he is willfully blind to his lack of indigestion. James doesn’t know why else he’d have a strange stomach ache, thus Remus is wrong. It happens sometimes.

 

So yes, James, weird mood, normal human, and all he did was offer to play Marlene McKinnon Starman, honestly, it didn’t mean he was going to give her the bloody record, did it?

 

He’s not ever thought about Marlene like a girl, anyways, she always feels like the type who would stab you for looking around a room when she was next to you, just on a whim. He gets on with her well enough, and all, but he’s not playing her tracks to romance her, is what he’s getting at.

 

They’d been walking out of Potions, one of the rare classes he was seated away from Sirius (for a month, after the explosion), discussing the lesson- all about Armortentia, as it were.

 

“I think it was rigged,” Marlene’d said. “Half of what I could smell was my dorm bed, which may be a love of mine but isn’t quite there yet.”

 

“Tell me about it. Half of what I could smell was Sirius’ jacket on the side-table, clogging up my sinuses.”

 

“I’m so jealous of his Bowie,” Marlene had groaned. “God. Walks the earth like he owns the moon, Sirius does. No wonder, with that record in his pocket.”

 

“You’ve a way with words, Marls.”

 

“And you’ve a way to a woman’s heart. Though I’ll be honest and say if I had to fuck one of youse, it’d be him, any day. Not like I would on the spot, mind you. But I reckon he’s pretty enough that you can forgive bad sex, you know?”

 

“Can’t argue with that,” James grinned. “I wouldn’t sleep with you either. Bet you get off being spanked against the floor or some off shit.”

 

“Nasty man,” Marlene crowed. “Don’t tell me you’re all vanilla, James Potter?”

 

“I’ve never given it much thought, honestly. I’m more of a romantic. Not like sex has to be romantic, just it has to be with the right person, you know?”

 

“Ugh,” the blonde groaned. “Whenever I want to hate you for your oversized ego and general male tomfoolery you say something like that and I want to hug you.”

 

“Works a charm,” James winked. “For the record I don’t think Sirius would be bad in bed.”

 

“I love that you tell me this so casually,” Marlene says, fascinated. “Pray tell? Have you heard reviews? Seen him in action? Experienced the Black show?”

 

“None of them exactly,” James mused. “Or all of them. But not the way you’re thinking. In any case Sirius has a good sense of rhythm, pianist hands, and a flexible tongue, so my summary is that he can’t be naturally bad at sex.”

 

“Damn,” Marlene said, after a beat. “Compelling argument, Potter.”

 

“Use protection.”

 

“Sod off.”

 

“Remind me, later, to let you listen to the record?”

 

“I will never understand you.”

 

He finds Sirius through Remus and Peter, who inform him he’s been “bamboozled”, as Peter so beautifully says.

 

“He made you follow to the Room then escaped through a passage,” Remus snitches. “He’s moodily walking on the pitch now, I think.”

 

“You can sort of see him with binoculars,” Peter offers. “He’s not bad to watch.”

 

Sirius is indeed vaguely visible, dark hair pulled up in a messy bun and figure taut. James feels a certain kind of way watching him from so far.

 

Actually... Actually, he’s thinking of something.

 

“Hey, guys? What did the potion smell like to you?”

 

“Pastries, parchment, cedar, Sugar Quills, some kind of spice,” Peter recites, so fast you’d think he learnt it. “It was memorable.”

 

James pouts. “Ours didn’t turn out like it should have. I could only smell a handful of things and the rest was muted by the smell of the dorm- or, well, this jacket.”

 

“You smelt the jacket?” Remus says, weirdly relieved sounding. For a moment he seems like he’s explained something away, then he falters. “Of course you smelt the jacket.”

 

James understands that Remus smelt the jacket too, and suddenly has a lot of questions for him and for himself because in no way is Remus near that jacket more than Peter is, and Peter didn’t smell it. Which means... a lot of things.

 

“I’ll go fetch the wet dog,” James announces, opening the Tower window and whistling for his broomstick. “Tea later, lads?”

 

“When do we ever say no?”

 

“Cheers, boys.”

 

He flies down until he’s in the pitch with a lot of thoughts flitting through his mind, then slowly descends until he’s about three meters above Sirius, who’s pacing.

 

“Sulking, mate?”

 

“I hate having empty hands,” Sirius answers. It’s true- he looks weird without a Snitch to fiddle with or a quill to chew on.

 

James can’t really recall why he was annoyed at Sirius earlier. Sirius doesn’t even seem pissy anymore. Probably just had a weird day.

 

“I’ve had a weird day,” Sirius says. James has already forgiven him the whole fiasco, and lowers the broom. “Sorry for the fuss.”

 

“No prob,” James says. “To be honest I’ve had a weird week.”

 

Sirius hums in acknowledgment. His grey eyes are lakes in the fading light, and tendrils of hair are falling from his bun. His knuckles are bruised. There’s freckles on his nose.

 

James nearly falls off his broom when he thinks of something.

 

It’s a thought that should come with panic and a long deliberation, but he realises that the long deliberation has really already happened a while ago, now he’s seeing things clear.

 

“Bludger hit you too hard?” Sirius inquires. James has been floating lower towards him.

 

“Got distracted by the announcer hurling insults at me,” James quips back, absently. “I just had a- hey, Sirius, what’d’you smell this morning?”

 

“Random things,” Sirius says, evading the question. “Including sparks. Odd.”

 

James lowers the broom that much closer.

 

“Padfoot? Remember how you asked for significant change?”

 

Sirius’ eyes are full of expectation. He’s an awful person, really, in a lot of ways, Sirius is, both as an individual and in his interactions, but James would honestly, like, die to protect the hopes in his eyes. They just kick something in him into life.

 

“Yeah, I do. You found something?”

 

“Maybe,” James says. He’s turning slowly on his broom, hanging upside down. He feels as though he should feel much less certain about his shot here, but he just knows. “Though I might be cheating a little with it.”

 

“Seeing things from a different perspective doesn’t count,” Sirius retorts, cheeky even upside down. James’ hair is falling out of his eyes as he lifts his hands off the broom, just to show off a little. Sirius pokes his knee; James brings one hand back up to the broomstick, swings back upright, because he knows Sirius’d watch him fall, for a laugh.

 

“I didn’t think quite so literally, no.”

 

“Well, Prongs. I’m waiting. Or is there a marching band getting ready in the stands?”

 

James laughs, and makes a mental note to use that idea at some point. He scoots towards the edge of the broom, steels his core like he would reaching for a difficult Snitch.

 

There’s a million ways he could do this. It’s been done, with them- hey, do you wanna... and do you feel like... In this context, though, it’s different. Fifteen is still young and dumb, even when you’re as smart as they are, but it feels grown up enough that things like this start to matter.

 

“I’ve been thinking I might be sort of into Lily Evans,” James says. “If she lost Snivellus, mind you.”

 

“Oh,” Sirius says. It’s so bloody typical Sirius for him to turn suddenly reasonable at that. “Well. Good choice, mate. Best girl our year in Gryffindor, her.”

 

“Why in Gryffindor?”

 

“It’s the only house that matters,” Sirius says, like he’s an idiot. James smiles.

 

“Right. But, you know-earlier, when we were smelling our potions, I didn’t smell anything like her in there. Course, there were smells I couldn’t recognize, so for all I know that was her, you know?”

 

“Romantic,” Sirius accuses. His hair is falling into his eyes a little.

 

“Still,” James continues. He feels a sort of roaring building up in his ears. “I did recognize you, though. Matter of fact I thought you were just blocking the Amortentia out. But it was you, as you’d expect.”

 

Sirius stills, and his eyes are very focused, very quiet, as James rubs his neck. You can read the questions on his face.

 

“Anyway. I guess I’m cheating somewhat for the whole change thing, because it’s more a lack thereof. But Padfoot, I just want to make sure you know- Evans or no Evans, you’re the best. And-“ Well, teenage boy though he may be, he’s emotionally adept. “I love you lots. More than- more than Quidditch.”

 

“You trying to make me cry or something?” Sirius asks, lightly mocking, but his eyes are so soft James hardly recognises them on him. “You don’t love anything more than Quidditch, you liar.”

 

“A very close second, then,” James grins, and leans just off his broom to kiss him, just quickly, so he knows for sure.

 

He’s got this faint idea of how Sirius’ll react, all dramatic like, but instead Sirius just inhales one long time and then pulls him straight out of the air so he stumbles onto his legs, gripping his forearms as he goes. Sirius grins, like he can feel it, and James laughs a little even though he can’t really laugh, or at least does until the kiss deepens and he forgets what was funny.

 

It’s the longest he’s kissed someone, for sure. Somehow he’s not worried Sirius will turn it against him- James’ done far more embarrassing than this. In any case he feels a little out of breath, when they kind of step back, more out of feeling than actual lack of breath.

 

“You sure you know what you’re doing, Prongs,” Sirius asks, but it’s not really a question.

 

“When do I not?” James smirks.

 

“Depends on how much time you have,” Sirius snarks back, but he’s smiling anyways, the crooked one where his canines show.

 

“I always have a plan, Padfoot,” James disagrees, self-assured.

 

“Usually,” Sirius points out, “I know what it is.”

 

James fixes his glasses. “Padfoot, Padfoot. The plan is never going to change, in the long run. You know very well you’re my favourite person.”

 

Sirius grins, wide and sharp. “Well, that’s nice. Remus is mine, actually.”

 

“Please,” James scoffs. “I am your most favourite person ever. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

 

“You’re such a cocky bastard.”

 

“Well, a little. You’re worse.”

 

“I am not.”

 

“Are too. Just yesterday you told Peter you pitied people who never got to meet you.”

 

“Which I still feel is justified. Wouldn’t you feel awful if you never got to meet me?”

 

“I’d be living the good life, really. So much free time on my hands.”

 

Sirius scoffs; James drops the act and smiles at him, wide and entertained. It’s dark and freezing, but in the wide open of the pitch he feels at home, somehow. Sirius out of uniform in his large green sweater is a good sight.

 

“I don’t know if I should let you make too many decisions on your own.”

 

“Hasn’t my consideration operation worked out?”

 

“Worked out alright, yeah,” Sirius shrugs, nonchalant. “Now, would you allow me to wipe that smug grin off your face?”

 

“With pleasure.”

 

He doesn’t think they quite succeed in wiping any smugness off anyone’s face, given the way Remus and Peter stare at them. Something in the way Peter extends a wordless hand and Remus drops a handful of coins.

 

“Oh, Merlin,” Peter says, sounding pretty chuffed anyways. “I’m going to need to learn that deafening spell properly now, aren’t I.”

 

“Who doesn’t like a bit of voyeurism?” Remus replies, mock cheerily. James can just sense the mental observation booklet being updated as he speaks.

 

“Participation is not frowned upon,” Sirius purrs, inciting Remus to smack him with a book, ears red, and James to wink exaggeratedly at Peter, who actually pulls his curtains, the little fucker.

 

Peter is the real comedian of their group.

 

For the record, okay, James has a swell time being considerate, and all. Making his friends happy and whatnot, he’s on board with. Really, his pleasure. He’d be delighted to.

 

(“James, please tell me I’m not high and that is indeed a diary you are so studiously scrawling into.”

 

“Sirius, my dearest, shut the fuck up.”

 

“Oh, life is good.”

 

“Go bother Remus, you poor man’s Prince.”)

 

Still, when it comes down to it, if you bypass the consequences and return to James’ ego, he wouldn’t say it altered his being called a twat by much at all, which obviously leads to one conclusion and one alone: Peter is a dirty liar and cannot be trusted with morality.

 

James will make note of this. Advice from Remus seems the safest outcome.

 

(Not that he’s ever been good at listening, but. Maybe next year.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i had fun writing this it's such a tonal shift from LMV


End file.
